Professor McGonagall and the Magical Quill
by Miranda-Hermione
Summary: Voldemort had another reason for taking over Hogwarts: the castle possessed the Magical Quill that recorded the names of all wizard children born - the perfect tool for ridding the world of muggleborns. When the Death Eaters arrive, Professor McGonagall must act quickly to protect what muggleborns she can. Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the characters thereof belong to Rowling


_Among the many magical items kept at Hogwarts, there is one that is perhaps more valuable than the rest put together: a Magic Quill which detects the birth of any magical child and writes his or her name down in a large parchment book. Every year, Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, checks the book and sends owls to those children who are turning eleven. _

_On August 1, 1997, Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters overthrew the Ministry of Magic and began a systematic campaign to wipe out all Muggle-born witches and wizards. Voldemort's right hand man, Severus Snape, was installed as Hogwarts's new headmaster with orders to check all students' blood status. The teachers of Hogwarts would have had to act quickly to protect what Muggle-born students they could…_

Tension crackled in the Headmaster's office like miniature bolts of lightning. "I have no idea what you're talking about," said McGonagall flatly.

Severus Snape steepled his fingers and sat back in the Headmaster's chair. "Do not make me repeat myself, Minerva," he said. "Where is the Hogwarts ledger?"

"If you desire a book, I suggest you seek Madam Pince," said McGonagall. "I am afraid _I _cannot help you."

"The Hogwarts ledger would not be in the possession of Madam Pince," said Snape dismissively. "Care of the magic quill and its book falls to the Deputy Headmaster of the day – or Headmistress," he added, staring straight into Minerva McGonagall's eyes.

McGonagall matched him stare for stare.

After a moment, Snape smiled. It was not a pleasant expression. "Come, come, Minerva, let us not play childish games. I am not asking you to divulge the plans you and the other teachers have to unseat me, or even the whereabouts of Harry Potter…"

"I would like to see you try," said McGonagall, with a smile to match Snape's.

There was a long silence. "I merely wish to see the book," said Snape quietly, reasonably. "The names of all the new first years. To ensure each and every one of them is… taken care of."

"Oh, I'm sure," said McGonagall, her accent thickening with sarcasm.

"My master would not be so pleasant," Snape warned.

McGonagall said nothing, merely looked down her nose at him with all the disdain of an angry cat. Apparently thinking that his seated position was giving McGonagall an advantage over him, Snape stood. Wordlessly he walked around the large desk that stood between them, coming to stand right in front of McGonagall. Their eyes were on a level.

Snape was so close, his forehead almost brushed against the brim of McGonagall's large witch's hat. "With or without your help, Minerva, I _will_ find what I am looking for," he breathed. "Just as the Dark Lord will find your precious Chosen One. You may either aid us or stand against us. It makes no difference to me."

Stepping back, he waved to the hunched, dark-haired wizard who had been standing by the door, just out of earshot. Amycus Carrow raised his wand threateningly at Minerva McGonagall as she swept past him.

As she reached for the door, Snape called, "We'll have another of these little chats soon, Minerva. In the meantime… consider carefully whose side you're on."

The sound of the door slamming was answer enough. Severus Snape suppressed the smallest sliver of a smile.

Back in her own office, Professor McGonagall did not attempt to hide the satisfied smirk that spread across her face. Hanging her hat on the cloak stand in the corner, she settled into a chair by the fireside to enjoy a well-earned cup of tea. The silver haired old man in the portrait over the mantelpiece tipped her a wink from behind half-moon spectacles. McGonagall glanced over at the corner.

The hat she had just taken off hung inconspicuously among its fellows. Its fabric was a dusty brown, the color of old leather, although the Transfiguration teacher had acquired it only recently. The interior lining was of a paler material, closer to the color of aged parchment. An enormous tawny feather stuck out of hatband, as handsome as any of the luxury items on offer at Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop.


End file.
